


The Art of Tattooing

by AgentInfinity



Series: Porn!AU [9]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, D/s, Exhibitionism, Flogging, Impact Play, M/M, Oral Sex, Painplay, Tattoos, mentions of collars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29795115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentInfinity/pseuds/AgentInfinity
Summary: If he can dive into creating his own gallery, he can bring upthiswith Enjolras, love of his life and dom of his dreams.“Hey, Enjolras?”  Grantaire clicks the TV off.  Enjolras follows his cue and closes his computer, leaning forward and setting it on the coffee table.“Yes?”  He waits as Grantaire figures out how to tackle this subject.“How do you feel about tattoos?”
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Porn!AU [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/84223
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	The Art of Tattooing

**Author's Note:**

> Porn!AU is back! Hello, lovelies. It's been awhile. This is an interlude before the gallery opening, which is currently sitting at nine pages in my Google Docs. I have been writing a lot of other things as of late, but it was nice to come back to my kinky boys and explore their next step. As always, heed the tags and take care of yourselves. Nothing too intense this time, but it's better to be safe than triggered. 💜

It’s late in the evening when Grantaire brings it up. He’s been watching some reality show for about three hours with his feet tucked under Enjolras’ legs as he works on his laptop. The last hour or so has just been him staring unseeingly at the TV and parsing out his feelings. He really should have spent at least a little time tonight looking at investor data for the gallery. The opening is in three months, but he’s just _so tired_. He’s excited about it. Happy to be creating something like this. He’s fucking _hopeful_ that this will work out and he won’t have wasted his time and money and his friends’ time and money.

He’s terrified. And thus, a three-hour block of some show of which he can’t remember the name. People are on an island and fucking each other and then fucking other people. It’s enjoyable trash.

And in the spirit of avoidance, his brain has taken up another topic he’s been dodging. But, if he can dive into creating his own gallery, he can bring up _this_ with Enjolras, love of his life and dom of his dreams.

“Hey, Enjolras?” Grantaire clicks the TV off. Enjolras follows his cue and closes his computer, leaning forward and setting it on the coffee table.

“Yes?” He waits as Grantaire figures out how to tackle this subject.

“How do you feel about tattoos?” Grantaire isn’t sure if this is the right way to start this conversation. “Well, maybe let me start again. How do you feel about, um, about…” he trails off, staring at the carpet and willing his brain to work.

Enjolras scoots close to him on the couch, reaches out a hand, and gently tilts Grantaire’s face back toward him.

“Slow, down, R. Start with your own train of thought and not what you think I need to hear. Also, for the record, I am not opposed to tattoos, especially tattoos on you. For myself, I’ve never seen anything that I wanted enough to have on my body forever.” After this, Enjolras waits patiently while Grantaire runs that information through his brain, pushes down that Enjolras has never thought about a couple’s tattoo with him (Enjolras probably doesn’t even think about tattoos that often...or ever), and starts at the beginning.

“So, we talked about collars, right?”

“Yes,” Enjolras nods, face still open and receptive.

“Okay, and I don’t want one because I spend a lot of time fighting, and most directors wouldn’t let a dom wear a collar in a shoot.” Grantaire pauses to make sure that Enjolras has followed this train of thought.

“Yes, we established that with your life how it is, that a collar would be a hindrance at the least. A danger at the most. Which I am completely okay with, by the way. It’s your choice if you want to be collared or not.”

“Yeah, I know, E. I know that. But those things are just the surface reasons, because I don’t want a symbol of my submission to you that can be and will routinely be removed.”

“Now, _that_ is new information.” Enjolras thinks for a moment. “And you came to the conclusion of tattoos?”

“Yeah, well. I want something recognizable as a mark of my devotion to you. Something more than a bracelet or a necklace that’s seen as just a piece of jewelry.”

“Which brings us back to shooting anyway.”

“Right. So I was thinking that maybe we could get tattoos together. You could design something for me, and I could get it on the back of my neck or on my wrist or something. And I could design yours to go with it. You could get it wherever you’d like, of course.” Grantaire remembers to breathe and does so deeply. At the floor again. Okay, that was a sigh.

“Grantaire, look at me,” Enjolras asks. Grantaire does because he always will. “That is a lovely idea. I wish you’d brought this up sooner. It’s clearly been weighing on you.”

“Yeah, well. I talked myself out of it several times.” Grantaire finds it hard to keep Enjolras’ gaze, but he does. “Tattoos are kind of, well. It’s more than a collar. It’s, um, forever.” That word is not something Grantaire ever thought he would be able to say in regards to a relationship, or hell, even his life. It shows how far he’s come, but he’s still unable to loosen the knot in his stomach.

“That’s true. It’s permanent. I’m willing, though.” Enjolras puts his hands on Grantaire’s face and smiles serenely. “I have no plans to ever be without you,” he adds, softly. Grantaire really can’t fathom that, but he holds those words back. They seem cruel in this instance. So his stupid brain goes with the most casual of words with as much meaning as he can muster.

“Same.” Enjolras laughs and kisses him like he didn’t just lose every ounce of poetic verbosity in his body.

“Just one issue, though.” Grantaire raises his eyebrows and sags just a bit.

“I can’t draw.” This pulls a laugh out of Grantaire, and he pulls Enjolras in for a kiss.

“You tell me what you want, and I’ll draw it then.”

***  
A week later finds Grantaire sitting at his drawing table in his studio room, sketching as Enjolras describes something so perfect it makes Grantaire want to cry a little.

Enjolras has described a highly-stylized padlock in red, black, and gray, with a connecting chain that will wrap around Grantaire’s right wrist. He works as Enjolras talks, adding shading and details, trying to get as close to Enjolras’ description as possible. He hadn’t started on the key yet, wanting it to match whatever Enjolras had decided on for the lock, but now that he sees where this is going, he has so many ideas.

After Enjolras finishes describing, Grantaire goes over his sketch with markers to make the colors stand out closer to the way they will under his skin. Enjolras has his head tipped back against the back of the couch, eyes closed and face peaceful. It’s rare that he ever stops moving or focusing on something long enough to just _exist_ like this, but Grantaire relishes being able to see him this way.

He starts to work on the key design, keeping the red accents to a minimum but making them bright. Enjolras doesn’t have to work to exude confidence or dominance. Sure, he plays it up in scenes and on camera, but he’s not an asshole in his everyday life (usually, anyway). It’s just a part of him, and it snags attention from anyone near him without Enjolras having to actually work at it. So the key will match that. It doesn’t need to be eye-catching to pull attention to it.

When he’s finished both designs, the light from the windows is beginning to dim in the room. He looks up at his surroundings and notices that Enjolras has reclined back on the couch, but is watching him intently.

“Sorry, were you talking to me? You know how I get, um, absorbed,” Grantaire smiles apologetically, wondering just how long they’ve been in the studio. He stretches out his back and reaches his arms up to the ceiling, sighing happily at the pops and cracks that result.

“I wasn’t. I was just watching you. I like it when you get lost in your work.” Grantaire smirks and shakes his head.

“What a creep. Just watching someone like that.” Enjolras gets up heads over to the drawing table, keeping eye contact with Grantaire the whole time.

“I’m a professional Grantaire-creep. Get used to it.” He kisses Grantaire on the head and leans over him to look at the designs. He goes quiet and still. Once upon a time Grantaire might have instantly started explaining away reasons that Enjolras might not like them, but he has just enough control these days to keep himself from doing that. Not enough for his first thought to be that Enjolras hates them, though.

It’s a work in progress.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, hushed. “These are beautiful.”

“Really?” he asks, wondering if revision comments are coming after the compliments or…

“Yes, I couldn’t have imagined them better. These are perfect.”

“So, you’re okay with getting this on your arm?”

“Absolutely. You’re incredible. I will never understand how you sit down with nothing but vague ideas and come out with things like this.” Grantaire’s protests are swallowed away in Enjolras’ kiss. Grantaire eventually breaks free, breathless and more than a little lightheaded just from Enjolras kissing him.

“Couch?” he manages to ask, panting. Enjolras pulls him up and walks him backward to it, still kissing and licking at his neck like he can’t get enough. When his calves hit the couch, he is pushed until he’s lying sprawled on it, one foot on the floor, his ass on the edge, and his other leg propped over the arm. Enjolras is leaning over him, one hand braced on the back and the other on the arm of the couch behind Grantaire’s head. He looks positively predatory hovering over Grantaire, eyes alight with some kind of savage glee. Just when Grantaire is about to ask if Enjolras is planning on eating him for dinner, Enjolras drops to his knees between Grantaire’s legs, which are still akimbo, and begins undoing his pants.

“I’m going to blow you, and you’re going to come down my throat,” Enjolras growls, pulling Grantaire’s cock out of his pants and licking a broad stripe from base to tip.

“Okay, I--oh, _god_ ,” Grantaire moans as Enjolras takes him down to the root until he can feel Enjolras swallow around him. He throws his head back and concentrates on not coming immediately, studying the paint splotches that have somehow managed to reach his ceiling. Enjolras rolls his balls in his hand and swirls his tongue around the underside of Grantaire’s cock on the upslide, and any thoughts of errant paint dissipate in his brain.

He looks down at Enjolras, who still has one hand on his balls and the other in his own pants, and he’s still wearing that same look of fierce determination in his eyes.

‘Jesus, _FUCK_ ,” Grantaire shouts as Enjolras sucks hard as he slides back up and presses his fingers against the soft skin just below Grantaire’s balls. Enjolras smiles a bit, which is impressive with a dick in his mouth, and strokes himself faster, humming in satisfaction when Grantaire slides his hands into Enjolras’ hair and holds on for dear fucking life.

This rhythm continues as Grantaire curses and pants and tries not to fidget or thrust up into Enjolras’ mouth, and he is not ashamed to say that it only takes about four minutes for Enjolras to suck his soul out of his dick and swallow every bit of come that he has to give.

In fact, as he is still swallowing around Grantaire, he moans low in his throat as he comes in his hand, the vibrations throwing Grantaire into overstimulation. He pulls lightly at Enjolras’ hair, and Enjolras pulls off of him with a pop, panting as he grins at Grantaire like a wolf grins at prey.

Enjolras pulls his hand out of his pants and offers it to Grantaire, who keeps eye contact as he sucks Enjolras’ fingers clean, enjoying the gasps and sharp exhales he gets for his efforts.

It is a long time before Grantaire can look at the couch in his studio without getting at least a little hard.

A couple months later, and their tattoos are fully healed and bright against their skin.

Enjolras is shirtless and expertly wielding a flogger against Grantaire’s chest and thighs as a few people gather around them at Entre Nous. They’re in one of the small semi-private rooms off to the side of the main room, one with only a little extra room for onlookers. Earlier, Enjolras had laid Grantaire out on a padded table and restrained his upper arms to it, instructing Grantaire to make use of the handles next to his head and not let go. This way, the restraints didn’t lay over the new tattoo on his forearm and wrist, and it was in full display unless Grantaire let go of the handle.

He doesn’t want to let go. He can see Enjolras’ key on his own forearm, the delicate chain attached forming an infinity symbol as it nears his elbow. The tears that form at the corners of his eyes, the ones that Enjolras smirks at when he sees them, satisfaction glinting in his gaze, are absolutely because the pain is exquisite and bright at this point. But they might also be because seeing the physical representation of the submission that he has entrusted to Enjolras is exhilarating even now, six weeks later.

He can’t see a time when he isn’t at least a little thrilled by the sight of it. He looks over at his own, even as the force of the impacts is reaching a crescendo, and finds comfort. Enjolras eventually slows and stops, digs his fingers into the angry skin of his chest, a vicious and satisfied smile taking in the tear tracks on his face. Beneath that, though, he is calculating every move and whimper, and Grantaire feels safe. Very, very sore, but safe. And _loved_.

“Mine,” Enjolras whispers into his ear, before biting a mark into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“Yours,” Grantaire gasps, groaning as Enjolras’s tongue flicks over the spot, soothing it.

Enjolras got a corresponding tattoo with him. It’s hard for even his brain to dispute that Enjolras loves him. So he relaxes into the sensations he’s being given and enjoys the ride.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you did in the comments or on Tumblr [here](http://agentxinfinity.tumblr.com). As always, this is unbeta'd so give a shout if you see something that needs fixed or tagged. Also, if you'd like to see more of my kinky offerings, I have been adding to my original kink series, _Sexcapades: A Love Story_ , and I also dipped my toes into The Old Guard fandom with a smutty and angsty Nile/OFC fic.
> 
> Self-promotion aside, I'm excited to share things again. I love y'all.


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